“By the horns of Kiri-Jolith, what is that?” roared Toron, suddenly gazing skyward. “It can’t be a—”
But it was.
A dragon. A red dragon soaring high into the sky, burying itself in the clouds above.
They stood there, trying to make sense of it.
Next a smaller, sleeker dragon, gleaming silver, raced skyward. There was something on its back, something that Hecar was fairly certain was a rider.
“Silver and red,” he whispered. He could never forget the battles he had watched in the sky during the war. “Deadly foes. They’ll fight to the death. The rider …” It seemed a voice spoke in his head. He nodded to himself, not caring whether the others heard or not. “Yes, it is Kaz. It would have to be.”
From the Creators of the DRAGONLANCE® Saga
THE LOST HISTORIES
The Kagonesti
Douglas Niles
The Irda
Linda P. Baker
The Dargonesti
Paul B. Thompson and Tonya Cook
Land of the Minotaurs
Richard A. Knaak
The Gully Dwarves
Dan Parkinson
The Dragons
Douglas Niles
LAND OF THE MINOTAURS
The Lost Histories: Volume Four
©1996 TSR, Inc.
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Cover art by: Larry Elmore
eISBN: 978-0-7869-6295-2
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v3.1
Contents
Cover
Other Books in the Series
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
Map
Chapter 1: A Balance to Maintain
Chapter 2: Kaz’s Mission
Chapter 3: Unwelcome Companions
Chapter 4: Ogre Attack
Chapter 5: The Minotaur Kingdoms
Chapter 6: A Surprise Reunion
Chapter 7: The High Priest
Chapter 8: Escape Plan
Chapter 9: A Secret Prisoner
Chapter 10: The Great Circus
Chapter 11: A Kender Captured
Chapter 12: A Traitor in the Midst
Chapter 13: The Red Dragon
Chapter 14: The Emperor
Chapter 15: The Gray Man
Chapter 16: Clan Loyalty
Chapter 17: The Silver Hatchling
Chapter 18: Aerial Combat
Chapter 19: The Future
About the Author
“We have been enslaved but have always thrown off our shackles. We have been driven back, but always returned to the fray stronger than before. We have risen to new heights when all other races have fallen into decay. We are the future of Krynn, the fated masters of the entire world. We are the children of destiny.”
Ancient Minotaur Litany
Chapter 1
A Balance to Maintain
———
Nethosak had obviously prospered in the past few years and yet to Hecar there was a hint of something poisonous in the air, as if the grand, imperial city of his people had somehow begun to spoil at the core.
Perhaps the stories are true, then, thought the tall minotaur. Perhaps the travelers were not exaggerating after all when they said that the empire had become corrupted, though even they had been at a loss to say exactly how.
The imperial capital of the minotaur empire had not only more than recovered in the eight years since the fall of the Dark Queen, it had swelled in both grandeur and might. Even three years ago, when Hecar and his sister had last bid farewell to it, Nethosak had not looked so masterful.
Nethosak was a city of immense marble structures, great buildings whose entrances were flanked by columns carved in the shapes of triumphant minotaur warriors. Many of these were clan houses. The house of Orilg, to which Hecar belonged, was, fortunately for him, situated far on the other side of the city. The houses here were of lesser clans. Nearby were shops, trade buildings, and many smithies, for weaponry was in constant demand in an empire bent on expansion. All of the buildings appeared clean and new, though many were centuries old.
Minotaurs tall and short, dark and light, hurried along, ignoring the lone figure who stood to the side of the orderly, nearly unblemished street. The lane was covered in stone not unlike a pearly marble, so that it looked almost as though the structures around Hecar were melting into the path. Very little garbage littered the street and, even as he watched, a gully dwarf with a collar around his throat scurried to pick up what he could. Hecar’s people had finally found a use for the dirty, childlike creatures.
The watcher’s mouth curled into a sour smile. Such a wonderful folk his kind were. Three years away from them had made Hecar see the minotaurs as others did, and he was not pleased by this insight.
In the distance, other, taller buildings jutted toward the sky. The tall, wide edifice with the arched roof was the palace of the emperor. Up close, it very much resembled the clan houses, save for the great roof. Marble columns, a long series of wide steps, a few windows on the upper levels … and the same blank, colorless walls that marked nearly every building in Mithas and Kothas. Having lived in the woodlands, Hecar found his old home drab and emotionless in ways that had annoyed him only vaguely when he had resided in Nethosak.
Flanking the palace—but from a supposedly respectful distance—were two other large, even more utilitarian edifices. The rounded building was the central temple of the Holy Orders of the Stars, where the high priest of the state religion resided. Here acolytes were trained and clerics were given the word of Sargas, the Great Horned One. Humans continued to insist that the god was Sargonnas, the Dark Queen’s consort, but even Hecar could not accept that. Whether true or false, he really did not care, for he was more inclined toward the smaller, less organized belief in Kiri-Jolith, the bison-headed god of just cause. The house of Orilg was that god’s bastion, which of times meant trouble with the state priests.
On the other side was the plain, boxlike building that served as the central quarters of the Supreme Circle, the eight minotaurs who oversaw the administration of the empire. Each member of the circle claimed a great number of followers, subordinates, and personal guards. There were clans smaller than the numbers who obeyed the dictates of any one circle member. Even more important, all government workers, including the strong and ever-present State Guard, which police
d not only Nethosak but the entire realm, acknowledged the superiority of the Supreme Circle. Of course, the circle and the priesthood were supposed to bow to the commands of the emperor, yet there were circumstances when both could not only bypass his authority, but dictate to him.
Overall, the system had always seemed a proper, efficient one to Hecar, until now. After hearing about the doubts and uncertainties of those who had departed the empire, he had to wonder.
A distant roar made him turn his gaze to the only structure in the distance that dwarfed even the palace.
The Great Circus.
It was as massive a colosseum as any built on the face of Ansalon, perhaps all of Krynn. Its architects had designed it with the thought that the entire minotaur race could be seated within, there to watch matters of justice and honor settled in hand-to-hand combat, as was the way of Hecar’s kind. While the population had long ago outgrown the Great Circus, it still allowed a good portion of the imperial city’s citizenry to enjoy the spectacles. There was no other building as important to minotaurs as the Great Circus, not even the palace, the central temple, or the headquarters of the Supreme Circle. The Great Circus was where the mightiest champions fought one another to prove their supremacy. It was where entire clans could be displaced from power.
It was where any minotaur who had proven himself worthy enough, who had risen in rank beyond all other champions, could challenge the present emperor and, if successful, succeed him as ruler. The imperial palace and everything within it would then belong to the victor. He or she would be the hand of the empire, guiding the race ever closer to its destiny. One day soon, so the priesthood kept proclaiming, a minotaur who would lead his people to dominate Krynn would sit upon the throne.
Hecar snorted. Of course, a challenger was just as likely to end up dead in the circus, killed by the emperor. Even when an emperor was replaced, which seemed to happen not very often these days, nothing much changed. The past few emperors, including the ones Hecar’s father could recall, seemed interchangeably alike.
By the time we’re finally ready to conquer the other races, he thought in some bitterness, the Last Day will have come and gone. We’ll be masters of nothing.
From the distant, circular edifice came another roar of approval. There was a good match going on today, for which Hecar was grateful. That meant that a great many minotaurs he had no desire to see just yet would be at the circus, cheering and betting on the possible demise of their fellows. The traveler could go about his business and, with any luck, be gone from Nethosak before nightfall. Hecar did not want to stay even one night in the imperial capital. Simply setting foot in the city after three years of self-imposed exile was enough to make him realize how little he missed the politics and folly, both often intertwined in Nethosak, and how true had been the words of his sister Helati’s mate, who had spoken to him just before his departure two weeks earlier. He had been warned that, having tasted freedom, neither he nor the other minotaurs living in the small settlement to the south would ever feel comfortable visiting the great city again. Hecar had laughed, recalling good memories, but those had paled even before the minotaur had reached the city gates.
What is it, though? Why do I feel so ill at ease?
The gully dwarf suddenly hustled to a spot just in front of him, the creature’s gaze riveted by a small piece of refuse. The squat, ugly little figure, a male, snatched it up as if it were gold, then glanced up at the looming minotaur.
“Galump make clean, Master! Galump make clean!”
There was such fear in the gully dwarf’s face that Hecar, taken aback, could think of nothing to say. Galump took the silence for approval and rushed off to snare another bit of garbage. Rather than laugh at the dwarf’s desperation, something he might well have done long ago, Hecar felt disgusted. There was something dishonorable, he believed, about mistreating such a weak and helpless race. The gully dwarves were pathetic, but did that make the minotaurs admirable simply because they could dominate the simple creatures and force them to do such menial tasks?
It’s because we’ve failed to conquer any other folk, Hecar thought. There, in the form of an ugly, weak thing with the mind of an infant, stands the sum total of our national ambition for conquest.
The gully dwarf was not even a slave actually taken in war. Galump’s people had no real home, not even much in the way of leadership or combat skills. Hecar could picture in his mind what had probably happened. Someone had likely spotted one of the tribes wandering through the hills and sent a small force to round them up with nets. Catching a gully dwarf was easier than catching a legless rabbit. They generally froze in terror at the sight of a minotaur on horseback.
It was amazing that someone had managed to teach them how to pick up trash in so careful and thorough a manner. Hecar suspected that the gully dwarf’s training had included torture of some sort.
With great effort, he tore himself from the familiar area he had so often frequented and headed deeper into the city. The streets were wide and the buildings tall, something that made him feel uncomfortable after so long in the woodlands. Hecar already found himself longing for the soft earth beneath his feet and the sweet, clean air that he had not breathed since coming within a day’s journey of the overcrowded capital. He was welcomed not only by the smell of the sea, which, as a veteran sailor, he appreciated, but also a rancid odor prevalent in most minotaur cities, and especially so here.
Hecar’s path took him closer to the docks, where the scent of the sea was stronger. The minotaur sniffed, recalling adventures from his younger days when he had sailed off on his first major expedition aboard the Gladiator. There were times he wished he had remained with the ship after his first two years, but if he had, he would have gone down with Master Ganth’s vessel during the veteran captain’s special mission for the empire. No one had seen or heard of the ship again, save for a few loose articles found by another vessel. For more reasons than one, Hecar missed Master Ganth. The captain had been a good teacher and a prime exponent of minotaur honor and strength. As a member of the same clan house as his first captain, Hecar always felt proud to recall that he had served with the stalwart minotaur.
All memory of his sailing days faded abruptly as he drank in the sight before him. It was not by chance that he had journeyed near the docks. Some of the news he and his companions had picked up from minotaurs who had recently departed Nethosak concerned a new fleet being built. What those newcomers had failed to emphasize was just how great a fleet had already been completed.
There were ships and ships and ships. All of them were obviously new, the oldest little more than three years. In all his life, Hecar could not recall so many fighting vessels docked at the capital. Nethosak had always been the busiest port in either kingdom, but it was clear that most of the vessels here were moored for some grand strategy. They were being saved for what had to be a substantial sea assault.
While the effort it must have taken the empire to build so many ships in the past few years was both astonishing and admirable, the fact that so much work had gone on since his departure disturbed Hecar. There had been some build-up of forces in the first five years after the minotaurs escaped the servitude of the Dark Lady, but the incredible rate of the last three years spoke of obsession.
It’s far too soon to be thinking of conquest, Hecar thought, shaking his head at the sight, far too soon. The empire will be heading for another downfall if this continues. “What mad fool has become emperor since I left? What’re the priesthood and the Supreme Circle doing?”
His questions had been muttered quietly. When a voice behind him responded, it took the visiting minotaur by surprise.
“You should be careful what you ask around here, Boy.”
The owner of the voice was a scarred, light brown-furred, weatherworn minotaur with only half a right arm. He carried a heavy sack in the other one and was obviously a dockworker. His snout was long and wrinkled.
“Lost the arm to a shark I killed after m
y ship went down, Boy,” remarked the elder, noting Hecar’s glance. “Ended up eating him instead of the other way around.” The older minotaur chuckled, then grew serious. “Talking out loud’s not good sometimes.”
“Just mouthing a few harmless thoughts, Elder.” Why was this other so concerned about what he had said?
“Suit yourself.” The other peered at him. “Been away for a while have you? Far away?”
“Far enough.”
“Come in on a ship?”
He had not, but for some reason Hecar decided to nod. “Long voyage.”
“Was it? Probably you had better luck on your voyage than I had on my last, Boy.… Which ship was that?”
“Gladiator,” Hecar immediately replied, hoping his inquisitive companion did not know that the remains of that particular ship rotted away at the bottom of the sea. He shifted his weight, adding, “I’ve business to attend to, Elder. May your ancestors guide you.”
“And may yours guide you, Boy.”
The old minotaur seemed innocent enough, but Hecar did not relax his guard. He had the distinct notion that he had been questioned for some reason. Perhaps he was just being paranoid. He had, after all, spent several days of travel worrying about the rumors and rumblings of the minotaurs who had joined the settlement.
Yet, more than ever, Hecar was certain that something was different in the empire, something that had not yet come to fruition but which held the potential for disaster.
His quickened pace brought him to his destination sooner than he expected. The dwelling was of the modest type that a minotaur who had reached a respectable status would choose. Like most minotaur dwellings, it was little more than a cube-shaped structure, two stories tall and surrounded in front by a stone wall about three feet high. A wooden plaque bore the sign of that minotaur’s clan house and his own personal marks.
Modest though it was, it was still more extravagant than the sort of dwellings lower-ranking minotaurs inhabited. Those dwellings, deeper in the core of the city and generally near the smaller arenas, were, more often than not, squat, single-room apartments of an unremarkable gray stone. They were stacked six high in some places, more than a dozen per floor, and were not as immaculate as the rest of the city. The inhabitants, usually striving to achieve better status, rarely considered those places permanent homes.
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